Dread the Hunger
by Dumbledoor
Summary: Bella Swan, the unsuspecting student. Mr. Cullen, the teacher who wants her. Do the math, and you get a very nonconsensual situation. This is rape, so don't read because it's offending. Actually, don't read it at all. Rated M. Just one chapter.


**This is a rape story of a teacher Edward and a student Bella. As is the general trend of M-rated oneshots, I've decided to be a follower (yeah...) and put a lot of focus on the sex part. I realize that many fics out there are as explicit as how Stephenie Meyer was NOT explicit in the Saga (in _Breaking Dawn_'s fault, anyhow).**

**Anyway, this is a first for me, and I wrote it because... eh, 'coz I wanted to. Sad to say, I haven't changed much as a writer; but the material definitely is a turnaround.**

Stephenie Meyer owns _Twilight_.

* * *

I Dread the Hunger

Mr Cullen asks me to stay after class. I wait by one of the front desks, books piled atop my arm.

Mr. Edward Cullen is one of the nice teachers, but maybe that's because he's a new teacher. He grades fairly, doesn't give out too much homework, and his essays are usually about some interesting topic. Everybody likes him, especially the girls. His bookshelf has a picture of a beautiful woman holding a baby.

"You can sit down." He walks toward me, gives a charming smile, slowly takes off his red tie. At this point I sit, carefully remembering the time I forgot my homework the other day. I put my books at a nearby table.

He crouches in front of me. I see the top of his auburn reddish hair.

"You've done really well in my class, Isabella," he says, looking at me curiously. He tilts his head slightly, trying to gauge my reaction.

I stumble upon my words. "Uh, thank you, Sir. I try my best."

That wasn't the answer he was looking for. He clicks his tongue, shaking his head in disappointment or... mischief? One corner of his mouth stretches up.

"Mr Hale requested you to be moved to his AP course. Apparently this writing class is too easy for you." He waits for a comment.

"Oh, well I wouldn't want to pass up an opportunity," I say, not knowing what to say.

"You don't, do you."

He looks at me, and it's a telling look. It's luring me in and spikes up my defensive reaction. I lean back slightly, imagining I was slamming the brakes of a car and cringing at the incoming contact.

"Miss Swan, you do realize you have to first prove you're a good fit for such an advanced class." He inches closer, and the way he looks at ny knees (for what else can he really look at from that position) alarms me further.

I gulp, waiting. Mr. Cullen smiles again, and somehow it reassures me and gives me hope that he's not about to do something illegal.

"So... I'd hate to let you go, but I absolutely see no reason why I should keep you from focusing on your obvious talent."

I smile at the praise. My cheeks burn with embarrassment.

The desk table squeaks as Mr. Cullen raises it on it's hinge. Now he kneels directly in front of me, staring at me with an unreadable expression.

His hands brace the metal legs of the chair. His dark eyes dare me to interrupt.

"Usually Mr. Hale asks for a portfolio that contains all your graded essays. I have taken the time to compile yours for you. It's sitting in his mailbox as we speak."

His hands crawl toward the seat of my chair, where my knee-length skirt stops him and he tugs lightly on the hem.

"Spread your knees apart," he orders suddenly. I am taken aback, and, before I stutter out a response, he follows his order for me. His fingers jump to my kneecaps, and he firmly slides them apart.

"Mr Cullen I don't..." I close my mouth when he gives me a warning look.

After a pause, he says, "Good. Now don't you want to know what you have to do to get into Mr Hale's class?" He doesn't wait for an answer as he quickly stands and walks toward the door. I sit and stare after him, noticing the eery silence of the classroom. Well, this class was usually quiet anyway, what with all the essays we write and no time for talking.

My teacher turns his head to look at me. "Aren't you coming along? We're going to the library to pick out topics."

I blink several times before I jump from my seat and walk to his waiting figure. He holds the door open, but just as I reach my foot over the hallway, he pulls me back inside, shuts the door. It locks with a click.

I look up at him, terrified. I am cornered.

"It's simple, all you have to do is say a few words," he continues simply, and he traps me further with his arms.

My back is pressed into the door. His left hand holds the door knob, and his right repeatedly slides over the wood.

He never stops looking into my eyes, and it's the enjoyment I see that snaps me into a feeble attempt to get away.

First, I push on his chest. I try to kick him where it hurts. But I can't push him off; I made it worse because now he's restraining me and my shoulders hurt where he pushes me still.

"Stop!" I gasp, but it sounds weak.

Mr. Cullen says , "Don't make me angry, Isabella. I'm not going to hurt you."

He pulls something out of his pocket-his handkerchief-and places it over my mouth. My limbs are limp, and I feel my body swaying. He carries me and places me on his empty desk. I register that the table is just long enough to accommodate me, but still the hard wood could barely be considered accommodating.

I close my eyes, because it's the last thing I can groggily move before I feel paralyzed.

What is he doing to me?

Shock runs it's course, but it's delay renders it futile. I can't move. I can just feel and hear and utter incomprehensible protests.

Mr Cullen's footsteps surround me, again and again circling the table until I feel a thud on either side of my head.

"Look at me, Bella," says he in a breezy voice. "Now, what I have in my drawer here I bought especially for you. As such, I want to make sure you use it."

The wooden slide of the drawer zips through the silence. I breathe faster now, gaining more consciousness throughout my still body.

I turn my head side to side just as I hear a clank of chunky metal.

From the ceiling to directly by my feet my eyes follow the sound. Mr Cullen holds a long piece of chain. He lifts my left ankle, and suddenly a silver brace locks in place.

I gasp as I figure those are manacles.

"You have very dainty ankles," he comments, clasping my other ankle. He removes my shoes and ankle socks. They drop to the floor with a quiet thud.

Sit up, Bella. Fight. Ugh, now my legs feel as heavy as a ton of bricks. I don't know what he did with the chains—I don't want to know—but now my left foot touches the left corner of the table, same with the right.

Oh, God. He could see my underwear now. I close my knees as best as I can but the weight attached to my ankles insistently tug and press my legs to the table. I can barely move my hips.

"Having a hard time moving?"

"Please. Let me go." I shut my eyes.

Another clank of metal rings beside me. It reminds me of keys.

"Handcuffs," he whispers.

After several seconds my wrists are handcuffed above my head. His hand presses down on my wrists as he finds something in his drawer.

"Seeing as I can't trust you to keep still, I'll have to find something to hold your arms-ah. Electrical tape. This'll do."

My eyes now frantically search for a way out.

"Don't do this-mmph!" He jumps on the table, straddling my stomach. He takes a moment to position himself so his knees border my torso and his weight doesn't hurt a thing.

He tapes my handcuffed wrists to one of the legs of the desk. "There we go," he says with flourish and flings the roll of black tape all the way to the back of the room.

He stares at me. "Now... isn't_ this _a pretty sight?"

I groan loudly when I feel his hard erection on my stomach. I can't get away.

"Ah, we'll have to cover those lips of yours." He takes his tie from the swivel chair and wraps it tightly over my mouth, between my teeth. I cough and shout but ultimately get quieter.

"No one else is here, so scream all you can," he says. "The louder you get, the more words you're gonna have to say." He wipes his hand on his tie affectionately.

And then he kisses me, his red tie between our lips. He sucks on my bottom lip. His palms squeeze my cheeks and push me down further on the table. I am gasping, hurting. I whimper.

He breathes a laugh into my cheek. "Yes, Bella. Give me a few more minutes and I'll let you speak."

His lips are soft and tender, but it his intentions that scare me. He licks and nips at my skin. It's too easy for him.

"Oh, Bella," he sings when his tongue licks my collarbone. His fingers remove my tie, and, starting from the bottom, tears off three buttons using his teeth.

I lift my head and see his hungry eyes staring at my stomach.

He growls. _Growls_. Mr. Cullen's hands squeeze my hips and lift them. By now he straddles my legs, his face pressed to my navel. He dips his tongue onto my skin, and, embarrassingly, I thrust. His touch tickles and burns.

"You are going to say a few words for me, Sweet," he tells me, voice low and deep. "First one is my name: Edward." He crawls towards me again, careful not to crush my body. "Will you do that for me?"

I nod. He smiles and takes off the tie around my head.

"Edw—" Two fingers stop me from speaking further.

"Sshh, not now. In a little while."

He looks down at my chest, a wicked smile on his face. "Would you like me to see you in your bra and panties?"

My blush deepens. "_No_! Please no!"

"Tsk tsk," he mocks. "Well then. I'll comply. For now."

He reaches behind him. His hand slides down my leg and up my plaid skirt, making me gasp. He toys with the skin just above my underwear. Again, his caressing forces a thrust of my hips, a thrust that pushes my hip up to his groin. He touches me across my hip and over my underwear. All the while his eyes are on mine.

"You're getting there," he says.

What is he talking about now?

"I'm gonna take 'em off," he says roughly. "And I'll abide by your wish. I guess I _won't_ see you in your panties." He yanks my panties down to my thighs, and he comments, "Miss Swan, I believe you are ready."

"W-what are you talking about?" Then his finger slides inside me. "_Nguh!_"

He takes his finger out. Everything down there feels slick and hot. His finger circles the top of the lips, which I presume is the clitoris (there's only so much health class can point out). Heat shoots through me, and I feel it to my toes.

"The word, Miss Swan," he reminds me, slowing his fingers and cooling the heat almost painfully. "I want it."

It's really hard to concentrate now. Oh, God, the fire, why does it hurt and feel_ good_ at the same time? "Edwa... uh, nghhh.." I see now he's purposefully making me moan so I can't say his name. He presses me down there harder, opens my legs much wider that my shins now dangle on the sides of the table. The pressure pulls my legs apart, stretches me wider.

Mr. Cullen groans. "Ah!" he exclaims when he hits a particularly tender spot. He still hasn't looked at my exposed flesh.

He laughs. "Now, now, I seem to be getting a bit hasty with my... ministrations," he murmurs as he leans down to my covered chest. He kisses me on my collarbone and I feel it, both the wetness of his lips on my neck and the other wetness below.

"The word? Miss Swan, you keep moaning and purring I'm beginning to get the idea that you would like to make this harder on yourself."

He fingers pause, and the heavy sensation that swirls through my body slows. "No! No, please, stop; I c-can't take it anymore." The word. "Edward, Edward, Edward!" My voice is raw, desperate.

He sits on me slightly, leaning down so we're face to face. His eyes are much darker now. I see him raise an eyebrow.

"Well then why didn't you just say so before?"

He waits, and it's only a few seconds until I realize he wants me to answer.

"Uh, I dunno... I- you're making this hard on me." He kisses the side of my mouth softly.

"But I have to challenge you. What else would Mr Hale expect?"

Mr Hale? What's he talking about?

Mr Cullen smirks. "I see I might've jostled that pretty head of yours a bit. Keep looking in my eyes, Isabella." He smiles again, starting anew. "Next word, or shall I say phrase: touch me."

I have to say what!

"I want you to say it," he says in a light tone. "Or I won't do it."

"I don't _want_ you to do anything to it!" I snap, my anger getting the best of me.

His eyes turn a menacing glare. "Very well, then," his voice is brisk and business-like. He lifts himself off of me, lands swiftly on the floor by my side. "I'll just get going then."

"Huh?" Panic bangs inside my chest; does he hear how fast my heart beats?

Mr Cullen is fixing up his shirt, stepping on his right shoe.

"You're leaving me here?" I say in alarm.

"Yeah well, I can't really force you to do something you didn't ask for." He shrugs. Now he's packing up his suitcase. He looks at me. "Shame, you lookin' like this. I'm sure the weekend janitor will have fun though."

"Please!"

He crouches down so his lips are grazing my ear.

"And you can forget the AP class. Mr Hale only takes students who make the extra effort for an assignment."

This is infuriating, humiliating; I am under his mercy.

"Before I forget, I'll give you that gift now." He opens his drawer again and pulls out a long, cylindrical thing that resembles...

"Is that a..."

"Dildo? Why, I'm shocked you know of such things, Isabella." He doesn't say anything after. He promptly presses the firm tip to my entrance.

He chuckles. It enters me slowly, pushing my hips upward. I yelp.

Slowly I feel it deeper; I actually feel what the inside of me is like, so slippery and tight and full of pressure.

"Ow.. Please, Edward!"

He slides it deeper into me. He smiles very widely now. "Halfway in, Isabella." He looks over his work, grins, then says, "You got a beautiful pussy down there. It deserves something..." I hear a loud snap and suddenly there is a vibration throughout my stomach.

"...More," he finishes, pushing the vibrating dildo up further.

"Ngh... Stop stop _no_, no stop uhh.."

Wet. Hot. Tickles. Burns. Then he moves it and wiggles it, burning me all over again.

"Touch!" I gasp out, wincing in pleasure and pain. "Please, touch me! Touch me touch me." My moans get louder and I hear him laugh.

"There's a switch here..." And the vibrator increases and hits me harder. Oh God, I can't take it anymore. I feel myself clench and try to push the dildo outside my body.

I hear footsteps, and Mr. Cullen walks towards the door.

My stomach clenches and loosens. "Ohh..." I moan. Oh God what is happening?

The door opens, he leaves, and it shuts without a sound. I am lost in my own pleasure.

My nipples are hard, I feel the rest of my skin harden with goosebumps. My toes still tingle, the rest of my body does, and my mind—a maelstrom of emotions and puzzlement.

All I feel is the vibrating inside me, deep inside where nothing should be.

And then I come. Cum. Whatever the word is. My eyes droop but my mouth opens wide. My body protests against the chains and the handcuffs, but I only succeed in thrusting myself into a slight arch. In this position I freeze, processing the throbbing in my pussy (as he called it) and the rough friction I feel. But there's more to it than that, and I'm lost for a few seconds. My hips jerk and thrust, jerk and thrust, and I'm stuck in this unending cycle of ecstasy and pain.

Heat and molten liquid. That pops in my head during my first orgasm.

I breathe so hard now, and it scares me that I can't turn the vibrator off. I'm still gripping it, despite the slickness of my skin and the violent thrusts before. I don't realize then that Mr. Cullen had put a weight between my legs to block the vibrator and to keep it in place.

- - - Some minutes later - - -

I've gotten quite desperate. I yell so loudly it's a wonder no one hears me. Now my voice is hoarse from all the gasps and the suppressed moans. My skin is sweaty and hot.

My pussy feels tender. The vibration hasn't stopped since, and since then the pressure's been building up inside me all over again. I go wild like I did before; I moan and whimper and even fucking curse with each agonizing typhoon of pleasure.

The door jiggles. I see a figure outside, crouching low and apparently working the key.

The door opens, and the figure walks slowly among the shadows. The sun's set by now, and the winter night approaches and seeps through the windows.

Mr Cullen appears, looking freshly showered and quite happy with himself. He looks down on my spread, flushed and struggling body.

"I can't believe I lasted this long without even taking off your shirt," he says, gently unbuttoning the remaining clasps of my blouse. "Good thing your pussy's showing or else I'd tear that skirt right now." He parts my blouse away from my body.

"Look at me, Miss Swan," he commands once again. Our eyes connect, and I can't look away. He touches me through my bra, slips his hand in between the fabric and my skin.

"You're getting turned on again, are you?" he guesses. "You smell like sex. Been enjoying yourself? Hmmm."

He sniffs my chest. His nose trickles down my bare stomach before it touches the waistline of my skirt. He turns his head so his cheek rests on my still shaking core.

"Oh," he moans deeply. "Oh, I can't wait any more." His eyes are blazing, haunting. I feel his gaze.

But I shouldn't. Feel it, I mean. I shouldn't feel him like this.

His breathless voice pants out, "This'll get dirtier, Miss. Swan."

Then he pulls out the dildo. It creates a rush I've never felt before. Mr. Cullen drags his arms lazily toward my face.

He looks at me, holding the dildo (now shiny and smelling distinctly of me) just an inch from my mouth.

He wants me to lick it. No way. I shake my head pleadingly. I don't dare open my mouth.

Mr. Cullen pushes it flush against my bottom lip. I pull my head to the right, but he snatches my chin and straightens me out till the tip touches the opening of my lips. I whimper as a last resort.

And then he gets mad. He throws it inside the drawer with a frustrated growl, slams the drawer (a slam that makes my shoulders jump).

"Fine, then," he says, climbing on the desk. He kneels around me, that is, his knees were on either side of my chest. It's frustrating and terrifying how immobile my arms are over my head.

Hastily he yanks on my bra.

"Ow!" I yell, because he won't just take the clasp off. Still he pulls on the strings until one tears, then he rips it in the middle.

But he doesn't touch my breasts again. He unbuckles his belt.

"No!" I say automatically, but then he abruptly sits on my chest, pulling out his black leather belt with a whoosh.

I writhe my torso to keep from feeling his crushing weight. He realizes this and gets on his knees again. The tip of the belt skims my breasts, and he slides it up my neck and to my lips before he lightly whacks it on my right cheek.

Ouch. There is no resounding crack as I expected, but still; ouch.

While I mingle between crying my right eye out or screaming as little as my voice could allow, Mr. Cullen unzips his pants and his erection sticks just below my face.

My first (real) penis experience and it had to be this.

More vehemently I shake my head, trying to resist his hands as they clamp my ears and jaw.

He squeezes—squeezes hard—my cheeks and my mouth obediently (traitorously) opens. He shoves his hard penis in my mouth, inch by inch. Oh God, it's so warm and hard and unbelievably big.

Mr Cullen moans, "Ohhh... God... Fuck." I close my eyes and try to ignore the wet sounds. He caresses my face, but it hurts now.

Breathe, breathe, breathe. He slides his penis in and out, hitting the back of my throat at times. Then his thrusts get more rushed, and then he completely pulls out and ejaculates on my neck and hair. Cruelly, he laughs.

He lowers his straddle to my stomach, rubbing his wet penis up and down my navel.

"You're sexy, Miss Swan," he murmurs, still holding my head. It's a scary sight to feel him slowly thrusting, to see his face directly in front of mine. His clothes slide roughly against my skin, making me hate friction all over again. We both pant and gasp loudly.

It's futile, I know. But again I cry out, "Mr. Cullen, please no more. I've never done... arms and legs hurt."

"Which makes it all the more satisfying for me, Isabella," he tells me in a very dry tone. It's like he's lecturing me. "You're assisting me with a little fantasy of mine, and til I'm satisfied with your work, you're not leaving. In fact..." He takes his hands off my face and slides it down my body. Then he stretches my thighs apart further, eliciting a cry from me.

"I'll start now."

I am surprised yet again to feel him hardening on top of me. He takes off his pants and I see him. His muscles dominate his physique, and it's not long when he takes off all his clothes.

"You've been quite enthusiastic, Isabella," he mocks, "but for this part I want you quiet." He shuffles through his damn drawer and I hear the zip of the electrical tape. "Shut your mouth, unless you want something else between your lips."

He heavily tapes over my mouth, not caring that it sticks to my hair and will probably hurt to remove. I don't care either; I'm too busy dreading the situation.

Mr. Cullen lowers himself and puts his attention to my skirt. He unzips it, flips it over my stomach, and then chuckles darkly at the sight of my pussy.

"You might not think it, but you're turned on, Miss Swan."

His hands massage my thighs and legs. At least it's putting the circulation back there.

Slowly, punishingly slowly, his tongue grinds my slit. "Ahh!" I scream, but it comes out as "Mmmmh!"

Which, in all probability, is the sound he's looking for.

I feel every groan he makes. And the resistance gets harder from there. His fingers are everywhere, and it's hard to tell what is in or out, hard or soft, what feels good or bad. He bites and licks randomly, and I scream at each surprise.

Heat. Molten liquid. My legs writhe and shake in anticipation. My toes curl, and I feel my lower muscles roll like a deep wave.

But then he stops all contact. What. The. Fuck.

"I put a condom in you," he informs me, positioning himself in between my legs. He presses down on my thighs.

I cry out in frustration. I'm going crazy, I really am!

"Last word, Isabella," he grunts out. His penis touches my wet entrance. My skin stretches even more now. The tingling rises to a rough burn.

His fingers stumble over my cheek. "Last word is yes."

He rips all the tape off.

"Ah!"

Then he thrusts into me.

"Yes! Yes, yes, _ungh_." I'm not even sure what gibberish comes out of my mouth. But he keeps going harder and deeper, then slower and deeper, then faster and then does it again. The thrusts are erratic—the effect is tantalizing.

With the hoarse voice that's been screaming and moaning all night, I still say, "Yes," not even quite sure I'm forcing it.


End file.
